


He’s Making A List (He’s Checking You Out)

by Tiny_Dragongirl



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Comedy, F/M, Female Sam Wilson, M/M, MRBBsecretsanta, Mild Language, Nativity Play, SVBBsecretsanta, Self-Esteem Issues, Wade writes a Christmas musical, but no underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl
Summary: High school teacher Peter Parker is charged with producing a nativity play. But how can he inspire his class when he might be ever lower on self-esteem than the kids? Coach Wilson, fellow teacher and co-director might have the answer.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Phil Coulson/May Parker (Spider-Man)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: SVBB & MRBB Secret Santa 2019





	He’s Making A List (He’s Checking You Out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_D/gifts).



“How do you motivate a bunch of bored teenagers?”

“Impossible if you yourself aren’t motivated, baby boy.”

“I have motivation,” Peter sighed, tossing his apple core into the bin. Another fulfilling lunch for his tightly-knotted-by-stress little ball called stomach. “Coulson will sack me if I fail to do it.”

“Eh, no, he won’t—unless he wants your burnin’ hot aunt to dump his sorry ass.” Wade patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Petey-pie! We’re in this together.”

Peter Parker had oh-so-many reasons to feel miserable. Namely:

Yep. Most wonderful time of the year his ass. More like just the right time for self-loathing and endless suffering.

“Nativity plays are for children,” Natasha said on their very first rehearsal.

Before Peter could have at least half-heartedly protest, the doors of the auditorium swung open and Wade marched in.

“Hey, everyone!” The class murmured back a ‘hey, coach’. “Are you ready for the casting? Time to charm your ways onto stage! Show us your best moves! Dazzle us with your angelic voices!”

“What if we don’t want to sing and dance?” James asked, arms crossed in front of him.

So far neither the verbal, nor the non-verbal feedback was less than promising.

“Then you’ll play the donkey! Your loss, Bucky.” Trust Wade never to lose his spirit—or lower his voice. If this conversation had been part of a script, Wade’s bits would have been written with the help of good old CapsLock. “Into backstage with you, now! Argue and elbow yourselves into a line in the wings, please, and wait till we call you on stage!”

As soon as the students, grunting and scowling, disappeared behind the stage, Peter hissed at Wade,

“Casting?!”

“Chill out, baby boy. A healthy competition will shake them up. You just lie back and think of Christmas.” Much to his own surprise, Peter did as he was told—or, at least, he sat down and stared at the empty stage. “Good. Here.” Wade tossed a notebook and a pen at him. “You might wanna take notes.”

  
  
  
  


Peter Parker learnt many things about his students that afternoon. A few examples:

And so on. Every single kid had a hidden talent—either something obviously useful for the play (like Samantha’s singing voice) or something of the might-come-in-handy type.

  
  
  
  


“We should do a musical!”

Even though Wade’s limitless enthusiasm scared him a bit, Peter felt glad for it—at least one of them actually came up with ideas. His brain usually just went into instant panic mode when he tried thinking about the play.

“Like _Jesus Christ Superstar_ , just better. Jesus Crib Superstar?”

“Not sure about the title— Actually, not sure about the whole idea… I mean, a musical needs songs and— and needs to be choreographed a-and—” Peter stammered. “Like, who will write the songs?”

“Bing Crosby, Nat Cole, and the Middle Ages!” Fair point. “Sam could play the herald angel slash narrator; with her voice she’d be fantastic.”

“Yeah, that- that could work.”

Wade clapped him on the shoulder, briefly squeezing it. “That’s the spirit! How about we go to my place, order a ton of pizza, and stitch together a script?”

“Wha-a-at? You mean, tonight?”

“Of course! Can’t wait to show you my _stamp collection_ if you know what I mean.” This was accompanied by a wink which made Peter blush furiously. “Relax, your virtue is safe! But time’s running out—tomorrow we have a rehearsal, did you forget?”

“No, no, I just— Fine, let’s write a script tonight.”

  
  
  
  


Peter Parker wished he could forget about:

Forget these or get a good night’s sleep; he’d be happy with any of these options.

  
  
  
  


“All hail Italians for inventing pizza!” Wade leant back in his armchair with a contented sigh. “Nobody had ever deserved a pizza like we did; we were going at it for _hours_.”

Although he’d have worded it differently, Peter couldn’t have agreed more. They worked hard on the script—their MO: Wade voicing whatever came to his mind, nothing too dirty or too wild, only get his ideas toned down by Peter—and after listening to every Christmas carol ever sung, that olive-and-cheese pizza was the best meal he had ever tasted. (Especially after he managed to convince Wade that pineapples weren’t meant to top pizzas. He was fairly sure that his word choice of ‘topping’ did 95 percent of the convincing.)

His gaze slowly shifted from left to right, taking in the sight: two wine glasses (empty) and a bottle (the epitome of emptiness) on the coffee table; a pizza box (deliciously empty) propped up against the bottle; a laptop laying forgotten on a chair; papers covering the table, the chairs, the floor, just every surface in the room. Was it a good strategy to dip their ideas into red wine, let them slip from their fingers, watch them sink and soak? Only the morrow would tell.

“Now your place doesn’t look so tidy,” Peter chuckled. 

“Didn’t know that was a goal.”

“No, it’s— I guess I just didn’t expect your flat being so tidy?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Peter felt his face grew hot with embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t— It’s just that you’re always so carefree and easy-going; don’t look like someone who gives a damn about washing-up.”

Was it necessary to dig himself even deeper?

“See, under all that carelessness, I’m still an elderly bachelor who needs to keep up his appearances.”

“Elderly? Forty isn’t old, it’s _ripe_.”

“I’m not forty,” Wade mumbled. “Near to forty but not there yet.”

And dig himself deeper.

“Uhh, sorry. Must be the scars.”

And deeper.

Peter wanted to save the situation but only managed to worsen it. Half a bottle of wine clouded his judgement so much that he managed to hurt _Wade_ —always too loud and always so confident Wade—by calling him old and ugly. Wow. So much for the Christmas spirit.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like—”

“Eh. Doesn’t matter.”

Maybe Peter acted like he owned zero brain cells, maybe he did own zero brain cells, but still— he could see that Wade’s smile was forced.

“I should go. See you tomorrow.”

  
  
  
  


Just a few options of what one could do after offending a colleague (friend?), according to Peter Parker, expert:

Naturally, he dived headfirst for option 3.

  
  
  
  


Showing up late for rehearsal with a bag of donuts in his hand was definitely not the right way to apologise but this came with the Parker Package.

“Sorry about last night.”

Wade snickered. “Not so loud, baby boy. We don’t want the kids getting ideas, do we?”

Ohh. Peter turned beet red with embarrassment— but hey, Wade was calling him ‘baby boy’ again, so hopefully they were back to okay?

“I guess wine makes me insensitive.”

“And makes me too sensitive.”

They shared a small, shy smile and that was it. Everything clicked back to place. Peter couldn’t believe his luck—normally it would have taken a lot more struggling and self-loathing to get forgiven.

“Also, sorry about being late. What did I miss?”

“Not much. We played a game to get into the mood, then I sent them to change because they looked helluva uncomfortable in their low waist jeans and too tight skirts.”

“And how should I dress up, sir?” It came out much flirtier than intended and Wade roamed his eyes over Peter’s body, making him turn an interesting new shade of red.

“You’re fine, Peter. Just as you are.” Wade’s answer came out less flirtier than Peter expected—his voice almost soft and uncharacteristically serious. The next moment his eyes were twinkling with mischief again and his lips curved into a shit-eating grin. “Ready to break them the result of the casting?”

  
  
  
  


As a huge fan of lists, Peter Parker could have cataloged the reactions of his students to the cast. For example:

And so on...

  
  
  
  


“I wish I could get James cooperate. The group respects him in a kinda scared way— Well, most of them— Anyway, they respect his opinion and he clearly doesn’t have a high opinion of the play.”

When did he make it into a habit to sit with Wade at the canteen and whine about his problems?

“First, you should stop calling him James. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

“I’m not everyone, I’m his teacher.”

“Be his teacher at Chem class. During the rehearsals, be his mentor.”

The idea made Peter choke on his yogurt.

“I, I’m not sure I’m the man for that—”

“Bullshit!”

“Swearing doesn’t equal reasoning.”

“Fu— Fine, let’s do reasons.” Wade pulled his chair closer, then fished out a pen from Peter’s shirt pocket and unfolded his used napkin. “Here. In case you wanted to take notes.”

“Ugh, no, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” With that, he slipped the pen back to the pocket, his fingers accidentally brushing Peter’s chest. Well, his chest under the layers of a shirt and an undershirt but still, the touch made Peter’s skin tingle. _Maybe I should wear shirts with less polyester. Or maybe use a different detergent?_

Or maybe he shouldn’t have sat so close to Wade that he could practically smell him— Oh, fork. Wade smelled alarmingly good, and Peter’s brain short circuited.

  
  
  
  


If Peter had paid attention, he would have learnt that:

_...because I could say_ anything _since your brain switched off minutes ago, didn’t it?_

  
  
  
  


“How is the play going, er, Peter?”

Principal Coulson dropped calling him ‘Parker’ or ‘Mr. Parker’ after he started dating Peter’s aunt and everything, well, _sauntered_ into a vaguely awkward direction.

“Great!” Peter squeaked, rapidly losing the last crumbs of his dignity. “Everything is going really, really… great.”

“Good. The Sinister Six volunteered to pitch in with their own covers of popular Christmas songs, in case you failed.” Peter shuddered at the thought. The Sinister Six meant a bunch of students declaring themselves a heavy metal band and throwing concerts with somewhat ambiguous success. “Glad to hear we won’t need their help.”

  
  
  
  


By great, Peter meant:

Two more weeks to go...

  
  
  
  


“I think the Wise Men really work as a jazz trio.”

Peter hummed in agreement; although at the moment the jazz trio seemed to be the only thing that worked in the play.

They were walking to the subway station after a tiresome and long rehearsal—so long that Stan, the janitor had to usher the group out of the building, firmly closing the door behind them. But maybe tiresome wasn’t the right expression after all. Maybe terrible, horrible, disastrous would have fitted the situation much better.

“I just don’t get it why Bucky and Nat can’t hit it off on stage. Sometimes I fear they’ll strangle each other.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “Only if they’re into that kind of sexual games…”

“What?! Are they…?”

“No but for the play’s sake I hope they figure it out in the next week.”

They stopped at a crosswalk, hands buried deep inside their pockets against the cold December evening.

“Where is your scarf, baby boy?”

“Shit! I must’ve left it at school.”

“Here.” With one swift move Wade takes off his own scarf and ties it around Peter’s neck, stepping closer in the process. So close the little puffs of their breaths mingled in the cold air, and Peter felt warm all of a sudden. What an effective scarf. “Don’t want your pretty nose turn snotty and disgusting.”

“What about you?”

“This will do just fine.” Wade pulled his faux furry hood tighter around his face. Before Peter could’ve protested further, his phone rang, _Banana Pancakes_ signalling that his aunt was calling. "Better take that.”

“Hey!” As soon as he picked it up, Wade waved him goodbye and left him under a streetlight without giving Peter the opportunity to stop him.

“ _Hi, honey! I know you’ve been busy with your play but we really should discuss the Christmas arrangements.”_

“Christmas? I mean, right, totally thinking about it…”

_“I thought we could have Christmas Eve just to ourselves, then I’d like Phil to come over on Christmas Day and he asked me on a romantic dinner for Boxing Day if that’s alright with you.”_

“Yeah, of course. Sounds good. See you soon.”

The call disconnected, he let his head fall into the lamp behind him with a soft thud. The snow was falling in fat white flakes, he was wearing Wade’s scarf and just agreed to spend Christmas Day with his boss.

“Fuck.”

  
  
  
  


Finally at home, Peter sat down to write his annual gift list.

“Stop! Again, let’s try it again!”

Peter stopped the rehearsal for the umpteenth time, way past the point where the kids started making faces. If anything, they stopped trying to be good. Bucky opened his mouth to argue but Wade jumped in.

“Right. Time for a break! See you in five, gang! Peter, a word, please.” As the students slowly filed out of the room, they pulled into a corner. Wade absent-mindedly scratched a scar on his chin, eyeing Peter with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Spill it, baby boy. What’s wrong?”

Peter didn’t want to answer the question, it just… happened.

“I hate it! The kids obviously don’t enjoy it— nor will the audience. Natasha was right from the beginning, this is childish and ridiculous. We will be laughed at and my students will hate me, not you, for embarrassing them in front of the whole school. These kids are literally useless! I’m literally useless!”

When did he start shouting? Much too soon, judging by the way the kids froze to the threshold as if the ice age swept over them.

“Shit.” Peter was _decades_ late to gasp and cover his big, running mouth with a hand.

“Rehearsal is cancelled for today,” Wade announced but kept his eyes fixated on Peter while the students headed out. “Now. Give me one good reason not to cancel the whole play. Or rather, give me one reason to try and persuade the kids into not giving up the show.”

Peter felt his mouth go dry. “Umm… Er, Coulson’ll kill me if we quit.”

“You really hate this, don’t you?”

“What should I do?”

“For a starter, get the message.”

“What message?”

“The true bullshit of Christmas! You know, all that stuff about love and miracles and believing in Hogfather or what-not…” The worst thing about this conservation was, Peter realised suddenly, that Wade’s heated words came through a forced, cold as ice calmness. ‘‘You should start by believing in yourself.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Peter muttered.

“Is that your takeaway?”

He needed to snap Wade out of calm demeanour and bring back his too loud, quick-on-the-trigger self.

“Pleeeease. As if you’re doing it out of love, not because you have to.”

“Coulson didn’t appoint me to the task. I volunteered.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to help you and spend time with you.”

“Okay but… why?”

“Peter, I like you.” Nobody had ever declared their affection in such a matter-of-fact, collected tone. “And I hate it how much you dislike yourself.”

“You what?” Peter laughed in exasperation. “I can’t believe that you’d deliberately spend hours with directing a nativity play just because you… like… me. Oh.”

The awkward silence that followed was so thick one could have spread it on a piece of bread.

“Pathetic, eh? The old, ugly guy lusting after the young, pretty nerd,” Wade said through gritted teeth and Peter really wanted to reply something, _anything_ , but he was buried six feet under his own embarrassment. “Fuck. I guess there will be no play this year.”

For the first time in his life, Peter did the wisest thing when he didn’t try to ramble his way through the shock and bewilderement in his mind and let Wade walk away.

Or the stupidest thing, depending on the point of view.

  
  
  
  


Things Peter needed to fix:

Finding Bucky sneak-smoking behind the gym was luck— or fate.

“That could give you lung cancer, you know.”

“It’s a candy cigarette.”

Yeah. Right. The lack of actual smoke should have given a clue.

“Right, sorry.” If their relationship hadn’t already hit rock bottom, Peter might have been worried about this unfortunate opening. Instead he just blurted out, “Actually, James, I need your help. You see, uhh, I’m trying to put together a little speech for you, as in the whole Chem class 3, to tell you how I didn’t mean _useless_ — That I actually didn’t mean any of it.”

Bucky huffed. “We’re kinda useless dancers and singers.”

Peter braced himself. He could do it. This mentoring stuff. Wade and he, they totally talked about it at some point. Or, Wade was telling him _something something deadlines something_ while he was busy smelling Wade.

“James, this isn’t a Broadway show. You can sing and dance—some of you are amazing at it, but at least everyone is decent—but you aren’t singers or dancers. You’re students and— Listen, nobody expects enough of you lot. We expect you to struggle your way through high school and nobody is surprised if you go down the drain. We don’t expect you to have dreams—which is, frankly, the worst thing a teacher can do.” He was spiralling into babbling but James seemed to be listening, so— “We should expect you to have fun when you’re doing a play in your free time, and I shouldn’t have push you so hard about it. I mean, I have to push you a bit, but for a healthy measure, not too much. I should have told you more how amazing and great you are because when you care about someone, you need to tell them the good things— And now I’ve ruined it,” Peter cut himself off before he could have gotten too emotional. “See, that’s why I need your help. To put it into the right words, so the class would listen.”

Under the layer of the tough punk guy, Bucky happened to be the boy who probably took his date out for something romantic like dancing or a science fair. Peter hoped to reach that boy with his words.

“Okay, teach. Let’s see what we can do about that speech.”

After Bucky had given him a few pointers, Peter put together a nice apology and felt ready to face his class.

“Think you can get the group to the auditorium in an hour?”

“Can we make it into two hours? I need to apologise to Na— to someone, er, for my attitude. During rehearsals, see.”

“Sure. See you in two hours then. Go, get yourself a Natasha—but don’t forget to practice your lines!”

Bucky was right. There were some personal apologies left to be made.

  
  
  
  


When Peter searched his soul to find a single reason to believe in himself, he realised that

Was it fate or sheer luck that when he ran into the teachers’ room to grab his bag, Peter run right into Wade?

“Oh, hey, sorry. I was— I was actually going to your place.”

Wade crossed his arms in front of his chest in an I-am-listening way. “What for?”

“I’ve never returned your scarf.”

“Eh. You can keep it. Suits you better.”

“Also, somehow I managed to convince James about not giving up the play, so in two hours we’re restarting the rehearsal. Yeah, I guess that sums it up.”

“And?”

“And I believe in Father Christmas!”

It didn’t have the desired effect—unless Peter meant to look like an idiot.

“Is that a metaphor?”

“Yes! No. Maybe. See, I got the message.” During his twenty-eight years on Earth, Peter grew close friends with rambling. “I just want to apologise. I mean, I apologise. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I can’t do this without you.”

“Remember the believing in yourself thingy? You _can_ do it.”

“But I don’t want to. You know, I wrote a list for Father Christmas about the things I wanted. Apart from the minor stuff, like sanity or a silver tongue, the thing I want the most is you. Romantically. Sexually. I want to visit a Christmas fair with you; roll around the snow with you; have sex with you wearing Santa hats… I want everything with you.”

“Oddly specific” Wade smirked “but none of these sound like a pity-date. So yeah, I think I can fit you into my agenda.”

Peter flushed because _holy shit, did Wade just agree to do_ everything _?_ “Sorry it took me so long to figure out, er, my feelings for you.”

“Yeah, sometimes you’re kinda—”

“Oblivious, I know.”

“—dumb.” If it was even possible, Peter’s blush deepened and Wade’s grin widened. “But in a brainy way!”

“Oi, shut up!”

“Make me, baby boy.”

So Peter did—by kissing him. Too soft, too tentative, too short.

“You like me, eh? Then kiss me like you mean it!” Wade teased and this time Peter really went for it. Too much teeth, not enough lips, too sloppy, not enough air… until it developed into a very enthusiastic and slightly more coordinated snogging. “Two hours, did you say? What shall we do in the meantime?”

  
  
  
  


If Peter had to pinpoint one thing he loved the most about this Christmas among

he couldn’t have chosen.

  
  
  


“Eh, baby boy, you definitely enjoyed me the most.”

**Author's Note:**

> Design and beta by the amazing [Tatiana](https://faedragonmyths.tumblr.com/)—thank you ever so much! (Yes, yes, every single list was made by her; isn't she brilliant?)
> 
> Happy new year, everyone!


End file.
